


Singular Creation

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Government, Light Angst, Post-EXTRA CCC, Sexual Content, Shibari, Slice of Life, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: “Then my body wasn’t a work of art before?”“Mm, of course it was. But it was not decorated byme.”Nero and Hakuno, after their honeymoon. The Emperor's work is never done--nor her Praetor's, for that matter. And yet, they manage.





	Singular Creation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Extra CCC.
> 
> You could say this is set in the same timeline as "Ass Mountain", but you don't have to read it to enjoy this!

“Praetor,” Nero murmurs as she surveys her work, “you look _stunning._ ”

_This is the best idea I’ve had yet—a tour de force, an arc de triumph!_

“Really?” Hakuno doesn’t look as impressed—which is a travesty. “…It feels nice.”

Nero chuckles low in her throat, watching her Praetor’s face glow red at the sound. “It _should._ ”

She delicately raises a hand and strokes the space between red silk rope and flesh, stopping at the waistband of Hakuno’s pink underwear. (Nero refuses to call them “panties”; they bring to mind dogs, not cotton that clings temptingly to her Praetor-wife’s hips.)

“You see, Praetor? Your body is embraced by a beautiful design that turns you into a work of art!”

The diamond pattern that crisscrosses from Hakuno’s chest to behind her back, binding her arms, shifts against her body as she fidgets on the bed. The rope is soft, and her sigh is softer.

Despite Hakuno’s obvious growing pleasure, she says “Then my body wasn’t a work of art before?”

“Mm, of course it was. But it was not decorated by _me._ ”

Hakuno laughs. “I see.”

“There’s one problem, though…” Nero stares at the remaining coils of rope, her enthusiasm flickering for a moment. “I meant to make a dress for you. The top is finished, but the skirt…I can’t quite envision it!”

Hakuno pointedly looks to her arms, curved behind her back. “You wanted me to walk around like this? _How?_ ”

Nero blinks in confusion. “We would travel by palanquin, of course! My wife and Praetor cannot sully herself on dirty streets!”

Trembling with grief at the very thought of Hakuno stepping in chamber pot residue, she reaches out and presses her lips to Hakuno’s delicate foot. Her fingers glide up Hakuno’s leg and brush against her sensitive inner knee, adoring the resulting shivers against her fingertips.

“…S-Saber, you seem… _too_ worried about that,” Hakuno says, her voice slightly huskier than normal.

“Hmph! How could I _not_ be? The thought of you, dressed in my magnificent art—someone so precious to me should be _paraded_ , should you not? And have no fear—the palanquin’s curtains would be drawn, so no one could see us.”

“Still—aren’t there decency laws against that?” Ever practical, this Praetor of hers.

Nero sighs and rests her cheek on Hakuno’s soft thigh. “Ah, Praetor…your humility is sweet, but sometimes it’s painful to witness. You are wife to the Emperor of Rome, surely you have pride in that!”

Hakuno bites her lip. Strands of wavy brown hair contrast her increasingly flushed face. “S-Saber, your breath is…!”

Nero can’t resist breathing gently against that hot flesh. Her shoulders shake with mirth as Hakuno’s hips lift and her legs tremble.

Seeing Hakuno slowly enveloped by pleasure creates the spark of an idea in her mind. “Ah-ha, I have a solution!”

Reluctantly she leaves Hakuno’s side for a moment and picks up the extra rope. Humming to herself, she easily unties Hakuno’s arms (much to her wife’s surprise) to ensure her limbs don’t fall asleep.

“The pattern’s gone,” Hakuno says, not unkindly.

“Have no fear, Praetor—it’ll look even better shortly! Hmm…first, I should create a sketch…”

Thankfully, Hakuno is patient. She pads around their bedroom, her hair swaying against her skin as she stretches sensually. She looks especially delicious in the sunlight filtering in from the gauzy curtains, her toes wiggling on the Persian rug’s ornate red, white and gold pattern.

Of course, in Nero’s opinion Hakuno brightens up every corner of Mare Aurum, from the towering theatre to the peaceful gardens. Seeing Hakuno wake up in the morning, surrounded by red silk sheets and mountains of pillows with a look of utter contentment is worthy of a thousand poems.

Nero works—no, _creates_ diligently, the charcoal stick between her fingers a blur on the creamy-white parchment. Whenever Hakuno tries to peer over her shoulder, she shoos her away with cheeks that may _appear_ flushed with embarrassment befitting a rough draft, but it’s merely a trick of the light.

There comes a point where Hakuno grows impatient. So she manages to slide her head onto Nero's lap, using it as a pillow. She laces her fingers together against her waist and says nothing. But Nero can tell that she's peering up at the sketchbook, trying to discover its contents. 

Nero stops sketching for a moment, lifts the sketchbook out of reach and simply stares. Then—

“—Praetor, you are _still_ forbidden from seeing this sketch.”

Hakuno pouts…which doesn’t quite work, given the circumstances.

“But do continue. Hmm…” Nero rubs her chin thoughtfully then smiles. “…Play with your hair, in the way I would were I not occupied.”

Hakuno quirks an eyebrow. “What, do you want me to masturbate too?”

“What a _wonderful_ idea, Praetor!” Her heart swells with pride at how far her innocent Praetor has come.

Hakuno’s laughter puts the birdsong outside to shame.

\---

Unfortunately, Nero only manages to finish the sketch that morning. The rest of the day, they need to govern Mare Aurum. _As if the Emperor of Rome would shirk her duties, even in the Afterlife!_

Which isn’t so bad, considering that in this beautiful, constructed world, Nero no longer has her mother sowing discord. And in this dream of a new Rome, she can perform her role without the disruption of her accursed migraines, with NPC citizens who can understand her a little better. (She would never create citizens with perfect obedience, how unnerving would that be?)

Now, she can change from Emperor to Artist as easily as swinging a sword.

She answers petitions, looks over senatorial disputes, and ensures her virtual empire’s safety with Hakuno by her side. She is, after all, Nero’s Praetor. She is clad in a white toga, looking like she was born to wear it, gold armlets gleaming in the sunlight and her hair coiled in a bun. Her sharp brown eyes miss nothing; she proves herself worthy of her title more than once.

“What happened?” Nero asks, as Hakuno returns from the imperial library without any books.

“There was a dispute between senators,” she says, as if speaking of a fly she swatted. “I somehow stopped it before it got out of hand.” She scratches her head. “I think it was something about last week’s chariot contest…?”

Nero pulls Hakuno into a grateful hug, relishing the delicate, vanilla scent of her hair. “Thank you for your hard work, Praetor!”

“Huh. You’re welcome, I guess…?”

Nero pouts. “Mm, that humility of yours seems quite a burden…”

\---

When being Emperor grows too boring, Nero takes up her artist mantle instead, enjoying private or public performances at whichever theatre she fancies that day. Acrobats, fire-jugglers, poets, theatre troupes and more, she welcomes them with open arms—as long as they defer to her artistic superiority, of course.

Hakuno doesn’t seem to notice any differences in quality. She sits by Nero’s side, asking questions, applauding with quiet enthusiasm, or watching with intense studiousness. Her subtle changes in expression with each performance are as fascinating as the performers on stage below them.

“Do you enjoy this one?” Nero inclines her head toward the musician regaling them with a love song and a delicate lyre.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Hakuno says, closing her eyes with a smile of contentment. “I barely understand the words, but…”

“Mm,” Nero agrees cheerfully. She bids the musician play on with a wave of her hand.

As the melody crescendos, Hakuno’s hands make floating gestures in the air; she doesn’t appear conscious of her actions. Fluttering shadows dapple Hakuno’s toga like black butterflies. Due to his music creating such a beautiful accompaniment, Nero applauds the musician’s final notes with palm-stinging enthusiasm. After a brief pause, the senators follow in turn. 

The musician falls to his knees—Nero can see his surprised smile from here, and knows well how it feels. She glows with pride on his behalf.

A brief lull occurs between performances, and the musician scuttles away before Nero can invite him to her seat. _How disappointing! …Mm._ _I shall allow it for today._

The audience’s chatter becomes a low hum, a familiar background noise Nero can and does filter out.

Hakuno leans toward Nero curiously. “So about that palanquin…”

“Mm, what is it?”

“Well, you let your senators see me, and these performers too, yet you don’t seem to mind. So—”

“Oh!” Nero has a flash of understanding. “The public can see you clothed, that is acceptable. But in my artwork, or nude… _that_ is different!”

Hakuno looks visibly relieved.

While the expression would normally be an unparalleled delight, the sight of it now rankles.

“Does my love still shock you?” It comes out more hurt than intended, harsh like a chisel scraping marble.

Hakuno’s smile is whisked away, replaced with a bitter frown.

“…I can’t help that, Saber. It’s still a little surreal to me, being treated so kindly.”

The words claw at Nero’s temperament unexpectedly.

“Praetor, you deserve every pleasure, every happiness that I can offer you!”

Hakuno’s head bows, as if the yoke of her emotions are dragging her down. “…Good.”

Hakuno’s dreary voice and pose are too painful to ignore.

Words cannot help here. And no matter how Nero may wish it so, Hakuno “can’t be happy by sheer force of will”. (Hakuno said as much during an argument not that long ago.)

There’s only one thing Nero can do.

Nero pulls Hakuno into an awkward, one-armed embrace, hoping touch will help. The warmth that slowly cocoons them is a sweet comfort, like hot mulled wine in winter. They stay like this for a long while, unnoticed by the senators below. Nero’s chest pangs at having to wait for her Praetor to feel better, but she knows full well she can’t rush relief.

Finally, Hakuno looks at Nero; while her eyes are wet at the corners, the sadness therein is slowly replaced by her glittering will.

“Thank you, Saber.”

“Of course!”

Hakuno dries her eyes and returns to her usual composure.

Her timing is perfect—the exhibition resumes.

In between performances, Nero ponders her rope-dress design. _It must be light, for my purposes, and able to capture Praetor’s beauty! The single diamond pattern was a start—it showed off her beautiful breasts well—but her arms may lose circulation in that position._

“Praetor,” she asks, as Hakuno receives a cup of _mulsum_ from a servant, “How did your bound arms feel this morning?”

Hakuno sips the honeyed wine thoughtfully, a faint pinkness to her cheeks. “Not bad, actually. But it was probably a good thing you untied me.”

“Mm, so you want the knots lighter next time?”

“That’d be good. Oh—but wouldn’t that defeat the point?”

Nero smiles and tucks a stray blonde strand behind her ear. “Mm, you could still move your wrists and be bound…”

Hakuno opens her mouth then closes it with a wry grin. “You’re going to say ‘It’s a surprise’ if I ask how that’s possible, aren’t you?”

“Of course, Praetor! But it will be a pleasant surprise.” Nero turns her attention back to the stage. “Ooh, behold, Praetor—a theatre troupe is here! They are the second-best in the land. Ah, and they will perform _Danae_!”

Hakuno sets her cup aside with a _clink_ , her body leaning toward Nero curiously. “I’ve never heard of it. What’s it about?”

She eagerly obliges, whispering translations in Hakuno’s ear throughout the performance. It’s only through sheer force of will that she doesn’t leap down from their balcony seat and join the actors herself.

(She decides to stage her own version of _Danae_ solely for Hakuno in the future, filled with glorious pomposity to rival the Greeks.)

\---

Around midday, Nero’s will erodes: she _must_ create that rope-dress this instant, or her mind will overflow with leftover creativity. She and Hakuno abscond, replacing the thrum of senatorial activity with the peace and quiet of the halls leading to their chambers.

While the long white halls decorated with Nero’s paintings are cool, Nero’s skin is heated from her boots to her face. Her clothes are too restricting, tight around her chest, but she reminds herself to wait. After all, _Hakuno_ isn’t tearing her toga off, which means that she isn’t in the same lustful haze just yet. Much like a play, this needs to be paced properly.

 _And yet…when I look at Praetor’s smooth shoulders, the slight perspiration at the back of her neck…!_ Nero pops open her collar with trembling fingers.

Hakuno chuckles. “You just couldn’t take it anymore, huh?”

“Of course not!” Nero scoops Hakuno up in her arms as if it’s their honeymoon all over again. “All day, I get to witness your charms as you go about your duties—and inevitably my thoughts return to this morning.” She purposefully lowers her voice an octave, the better to make Hakuno shiver in delight. “Did _you_ think of it, Praetor?”

Hakuno’s affectionately annoyed expression makes Nero chuckle. “Saber, you know the answer to that question. You didn’t even let me touch you!”

“You had a nefarious plan in mind,” Nero counters, while at the same time letting Hakuno wrap her pale arms around her neck. “The surprise would be ruined if you succeeded!”

“I’d _never_ ,” Hakuno says, before proving herself wrong by sliding her hands along Nero’s back, sending tingling pleasure down Nero’s spine.

They only just make it through the gilded doorway. Nero sets Hakuno down onto the bed, and Hakuno unties her brown hair so that it floats free in a dark waterfall.

“Remember,” Nero says, as Hakuno sprawls out luxuriously, “We are creating a work of art.”

“And sleeping together?” Hakuno helpfully runs a hand over her still-clothed breasts, a sigh leaking from her lips.

“That is the art’s true purpose!” To prove her honesty, Nero unfastens her jacket and tosses it over a nearby chair. Her armored boots are next. She feels a little lighter, clad only in her leotard and skirt.

Hakuno openly drinks in the sight, and Nero takes the opportunity to preen—but only for a moment.

She retrieves the sketchbook from its hiding place in the closet and makes a few adjustments. Once finished, she shows it off proudly.

“Behold, Praetor, your dress to be!”

Hakuno sits up and shifts to a kneeling position, the better to look at the sketch. Her gaze slowly scrolls downwards, taking in every detail.

“So…huh. The top part’s made up of diamond pattern, and starts from my neck. The skirt…that’s tied to the diamond pattern that frames my waist, right?”

Nero takes the opportunity to disrobe her skirt, the milky gauze and crimson linen gliding off her skin and pooling onto the floor. Gooseflesh rises on her legs.

“Exactly, Praetor! Also, I designed it so that your arms could be loose.”

“Thanks!”

“You mustn’t thank me yet, Praetor.” She wags a finger in warning. “I want you to hold your hands at your sides—and not to move unless your arms grow tired. Is that acceptable?”

Hakuno smiles and unpins the badge holding her toga together.

The fabric trickles down her skin like water, leaving her upper body beautifully bare. Nero chuckles as Hakuno rolls around the bed to free her body the rest of the way—her gracelessness is nothing short of charming.

“Okay,” Hakuno says as she sits back up, a little short of breath and clad only in her underwear. “Now I’m ready.”

“As you wish, Praetor.” So saying, Nero finds the coiled rope from this morning and begins to bring her sketch to life.

Nero drapes the rope across Hakuno’s neck like a scarf. A loose overhand knot will bind it well. From there, she begins the diamond pattern, looping the rope around and around in a series of hypnotic passes. The knots and curving rope begin to frame Hakuno’s breasts, rubbing against her pinking skin with each breath—it gives Nero pause, but only for a moment.

“Praetor, do you want a knot here?” She brushes the tip of a finger between Hakuno’s thighs and smiles at the trembling warmth through the cotton.

“No,” Hakuno says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You”—she clears her throat—“you wouldn’t be able to touch.”

She keeps her word: her hands lie still by her sides. The strain of her muscles is deliciously evident.

Nero chuckles and forgoes her art for a moment, gliding her hand against Hakuno and reveling in her eager rolling hips. “Indeed Praetor, that _would_ be a shame.”

The cotton tickles her palm. She smiles at the nub throbbing beneath the fabric, against her hand. She leans forward, the better to worship Hakuno’s breasts, then whisper lascivious words in Hakuno’s ear and drink in her lust-glazed eyes.

The sights, tastes and sounds overwhelm Nero’s senses; pleasure drips like honey from the back of her neck and pools in her belly, a luxurious weight.

“Yes,” she breathes, as Hakuno begs her wordlessly for release.

It doesn’t take long before Hakuno’s soaked and shuddering against her fingers, her panting breath gusting against Nero’s hair.

“Do you need refreshment, Praetor?” Nero asks, glancing toward the silver water pitcher and cups that sit on the bedside table.

“Yes, please.”

The pitcher’s handle is cool against Nero’s hand, and the chill brings her mind back to her work in progress. Nero watches Hakuno’s reflected fingers delicately hold the cup, how she takes careful sips.

“Saber,” Hakuno says softly, once she’s downed the cup to the dregs, “don’t you need relief too?”

“In a moment. Pleasure must be savored!” Nero has a drink, too, the cool, sweet water a welcome relief. The emptied cup _clinks_ softly as she sets it back down.

“Now, then,” she says, turning her attention back to where it belongs.

Nero begins carefully tying knots to the lower part of the diamond pattern that frames Hakuno’s belly, thus beginning the skirt section of the dress. This is the hardest part, and while she does keep her senses peeled for any unrest from Hakuno, her mind narrows in on this series of patterns and knots that will unfurl against Hakuno’s skin.

Every so often, she asks how Hakuno’s doing—the knots don’t matter, she can redo them in an instant.

“You are a singular creation, Praetor,” Nero says solemnly, as she finishes the last knot. “I _will not_ lose you to carelessness!”

“The same goes for you,” Hakuno says with a stern look.

Nero doesn’t have a rejoinder to that. She simply drinks in the reciprocated love. She can’t help but laugh a little at her foolishness: like Hakuno, she isn’t used to such luxury.

She brings herself back to the present—the rope-dress is finally complete, which is worthy of celebration. She hops off the bed and pushes one of their large mirrors before Hakuno.

She gives a dramatic flourish with her hand. “Now, Praetor, behold!”

Hakuno slowly stands, turning this way and that. In the end, the skirt isn’t very long, only reaching the top of Hakuno’s thighs, but it still sways pleasantly back and forth with her movements. She is decorated and enhanced in red, the color bringing out the passion in her eyes and the grace of her movements.

“…Wow. It’s really beautiful, Saber!” Hakuno smiles and turns to look at the back in the mirror. “Oh, you framed my butt with the ropes, that’s more comfortable than the alternative.” She glances at Nero curiously. “Is that harder to do?”

“Not for the Emperor!” If Nero could get drunk off Hakuno’s delight, she would. “Some pictures of rope dresses reach all the way to the model’s feet, but I decided not to.”

“Thanks,” Hakuno says, though she does look curious about it. She sits down carefully, her body swaying as the ropes caress and embrace her. “Looks like that palanquin wouldn’t be needed, huh?”

“What do you mean? I assure you, being carried is far better than walking on hot days like these!”

“Good point. But…” Hakuno lies back on the bed and gazes at Nero beneath her lashes, shamelessly beguiling. “…This artwork is for _your_ eyes only, right?”

Nero chuckles and returns to the bed, draping herself over Hakuno’s body. Before her lies a vision of ivory and red silk, a wife more regal than Juno herself, as enthralling as Venus and as wise as Athena. _My luck truly is stupendous!_

She works her way down Hakuno’s body, bestowing pleasure wherever she touches and stoking the heat in her own belly.

“You are correct, Praetor,” she says, and kisses between Hakuno’s legs. “Now, about that pleasure you offered me…”

Hakuno chuckles, and the sound warms Nero’s chest. “It still stands, don’t worry.” She crooks a finger, toward her lips. “Come here.”

Nero knows what Hakuno wants. She crawls to her eager bride, opens her thighs so that Hakuno’s head can rest between them, and sinks down with a sigh. The wet, slow slide that follows makes the coiling heat grow ever stronger.

The world narrows luxuriously into a rising swirl of sound and heat: Hakuno’s moans and gasps gusting against Nero’s skin, Nero using the ropes as reins to control Hakuno’s rolling movements, the rising, curling tension in her belly like honey…

…They can spend hours like this, and they do. Nero resolved long ago to never let Hakuno’s body go without pleasure—it houses her mind and soul, after all, and what could be more worthy of affection than that?

They enjoy each other thoroughly, until inevitably they collapse beside each other, tumbled and content.

“What brought this on, anyway, Saber?” Hakuno asks, her eyes full of drowsy affection.

She chuckles and props herself up on her elbow. “Sometimes, even I must indulge in art made for myself alone. Is that so strange?”

“No, not at all! I like that idea. If you don’t mind sharing it with me sometimes…”

The hesitant, gentle words bring Nero’s mind to a halt. Embarrassed joy tickles her skin, and she quickly glances away and babbles something foolish and convoluted that ultimately means “yes”. _It’s ridiculous of me to act this way! Not all of my art is erotic, either, so why must my heart beat so fiercely?!_

She knows why, of course. In the end, she doesn’t mind it—her Praetor shares these foolish emotions, and so what is there to be ashamed over?

As this dream of Rome, an elegant performance beyond any she gave in life, resumes in Mare Aurum, Nero rests assured that Hakuno will understand the worth of this masterpiece.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Feedback is appreciated.


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